


Death

by TheDarkRat



Category: Original Work
Genre: Character Study, Drabble, Writing practice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 10:47:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15705693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarkRat/pseuds/TheDarkRat





	Death

In the dark, her eyes glittered like diamonds, hard, cold and beautiful. She stood half in the firelight, dark skin aglow.

She was Death. I knew. And yet, I did not fear. Not now. Not ever. She was the Mistress of the Night. Who was I to refuse her?

She took a step nearer, the whole of her body now illuminated. She wore a short silk kilt belted in the front and a sleeveless leather jerkin laced halfway up and left purposely loose. All of it a perfect pitch black. It went well with her dark brown skin. Her hair was bound in dreadlocks, pushed away from her face with a band of black leather.

Still too awestruck to speak, I could barely gesture for her to sit and share my fire. To do otherwise would be rude and foolish. As graceful as the large hunting cats from the south, she sat crosslegged. I cleared my throat quietly and handed her my skin of water.

  
“Here,” my voice husky with too many emotions. She took the skin. “It’s fresh and clear.” My voice shook, but she didn’t seem to notice or care. I watched her drink. Her throat moved like any other mortal’s, but her diamond eyes never left mine. After her thirst was slaked, she returned the skin.

  
“Tell me, stranger, what do you call this land?” Her voice was soft but strong. Once more I was reminded of large felines.

  
“We call It Mir’lan, my lady.” She turned her head slightly, looking away into the darkness.

  
“Why do you address me as ‘Lady’?”

  
“Aren’t you?” I asked, anxious that I had offended her. “Aren’t you Death?”

  
She whipped her head so sharply in my direction, I swore I heard her neck snap. “How is it that you know that tale?” Her voice barely above a whisper, “I thought it was long dead and forgotten.”

  
“To most,” I nodded. “My mother taught me the old ways, as her mother taught her. In secret. Behind closed doors and at night. She said stories shouldn’t be forgotten.”

Death smiled.

“Your mother was wise. It does not do to forget the tales of your forebears.” The fire snapped and crackled. “What do the old tales have to say about Death walking abroad?”

  
“A winter of an age; a death of life as it was,” I took a quavering breath, “and a new beginning where it is needed.”

Her smile was the full moon on a winter’s night. Her eyes the stars.

“Very good. You are also wise. You do not fear what doesn’t need fearing.” She unfolded her legs and stood. She held out a hand. “Walk with me. Find your new beginning.”


End file.
